Business Interaction
by Jurassic Wolf
Summary: Claire Dearing summons Owen Grady for a business interaction. Unfortunately, she has no idea just where this interaction will lead to. Pre Jurassic World.
1. Distractions

**Because clawen and booty calls mix nicely. Hope you enjoy. ;)**

* * *

Claire was stressed out. That morning, she'd had a Skype meeting with the board and Mr. Masrani on their hybrid project. Statistics swam through her head. After all the money they'd invested in that thing, would it really generate enough public interest for an enormous surge in visitors' attendance? Would it be enough to keep the park running for another decade? Masrani seemed to think so. But Claire had her doubts. And they'd been nagging at her all day, nearly driving her insane.

She needed something . . . appropriate . . . to distract her from everything. In fact, her assistant, Zara, had suggested it. It was a joke, of course, but it made Claire wonder why she hadn't thought of it before.

So it began with a very unusual order.

"Coffee break, everyone." She announced as she strolled into her office building. "I want to see you back here in one hour exactly—no more or less—with Starbucks cups in your hands."

There were shocked exclamations and curious glances. But no protests(surprise, surprise). One by one, they filed out the door, relieved to get the air and energy Claire Dearing almost never offered.

Zara was the last to go. She raised an eyebrow. "Mind informing me on what this is all about?"

Claire gave her the trademark half-smile. "You'll see soon enough."

* * *

Five minutes late, he showed up at her office, taking in his vacant surroundings with interest.

Claire cleared her throat from behind her desk. "Owen Grady."

"Claire Dearing," He smirked. "Fancy place you got here. But where are all the corporate zombies?"

She met his eyes. "I sent my _staff_ out on break. I wanted to have a word with you . . . alone, Owen. May I call you Owen?"

"Uh, sure." He shrugged, suddenly looking nervous. "Is this about the raptors? Look, I know things have been slow, but we're giving it all—"

"Actually," She stood up from her chair and approached him slowly, running a hand along the expensive mahogany as she glided around the desk. "This is more of a . . . business interaction."

Owen's face was a picture of innocence. He had no idea where this was going. "Interaction? What the hell does that even—"

And then she was less than a foot away, her gaze sweeping over his muscular frame, a strange glint in her eyes. It burned with hunger.

Her fingers trailed their way up his forearms—kicking his heart into overdrive and setting his nerves on fire—until they slid to a halt at his neck.

"Oh," Owen murmured, his mouth dry. "That kind of interaction."

And before he knew what was happening, Claire had a fistful of his collar in her hands and she was yanking his lips down to meet hers. Their mouths slammed together so hard they nearly tumbled to the ground. And it didn't take long for the room to be filled with the sound of ragged breathing, ruffling clothes, and the occasional deep-throated moan.

With a grunt, Owen practically hurled their bodies against Claire's desk, papers spilling onto the floor, and a half-filled cup of coffee cascading over a pile of unfinished paperwork. Normally, she'd be extremely upset about that, but she was too preoccupied at the moment to care.

Owen ripped his mouth away from their thick, messy, and violent kiss—lipstick smeared all over—crouching over the desk and panting breathlessly. "How much time do we have?"

"Their break lasts an hour." She gasped, gripping his shoulders so hard it hurt. "It was an order. Not a suggestion."

"Good to know." With that, his tongue was back in her mouth and her hands were fumbling for his belt.

Claire's back slid farther across the desk just as she managed to split open his pants and start shoving them down. Owen raked her skirt up her thighs and got a nice look at her wet lace panties.

"You ready for this?" He hissed against her lips.

She locked eyes with him. "As if the Operations Manager of Jurassic World wasn't prepared for everything."

With that final stamp of approval, he was tearing away the last barrier between them and heaving his entire length inside her.

Claire Dearing had engaged in "business interactions" quite a few times. Never during her Operations Managing career, of course. Months before she came to Isla Nublar. During other jobs. Other careers. She hadn't been satisfied at all. No man could give her what she wanted, and she'd long given up on testing each one. But this was different. She knew it the moment she cast her eyes on him. The moment he spoke to her in that rich, deep voice. The moment their lips collided. And the moment he sliced into her folds.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she dug her fingernails into his back, hissing at the clothes that kept her from him. Unfortunately, ending up completely naked in her office wouldn't make a convenient escape for either of them. But her head was spinning at the thought of it.

She'd expected him to take it slow at first. But hell, he was doing anything but. Owen rammed into her hard and fast, growling and groaning as if he'd waited an entire lifetime for this. For her.

She could feel a rush of heat tunneling through her. _God, not now,_ she begged. _Not now._

Claire gripped him like a life vest, grinding against him, and trying so hard to make this moment last forever.

 _"Owen . . ."_

The moan of his name on her lips nearly drove him to the brink, and he bent down to meet her mouth in another scorching kiss. She took his breath away, demanding so much from him, and with nothing he wouldn't give.

Claire Dearing, woman of his dreams and head of Jurassic World, was sprawled out on her desk, being fucked by Owen Grady, lowly raptor trainer. The thought of it made his mouth water.

His legs and abdomen were on fire, and he quickened his pace, feeling Claire tense up beneath him and start shouting something incoherent. As soon as he heard his name screamed to the heavens, he lost it, bunching up his muscles and keeling over, exploding inside her folds and being met with her own steaming fluids. He drowned out her cries of ecstasy with his own, finishing it off with a crash of their burning lips.

Their breathing was hoarse and loud, and Claire tried in vain to slow down her rapid pulse.

They stared into each other's blue eyes for a moment longer than necessary.

"Please tell me this isn't just a one-time thing." Owen pleaded.

Claire pushed him off of her, planting another kiss on his lips. "That depends if I'm ever feeling stressful again."

"Oh, that's all it takes?" He grinned and yanked up his pants.

"Tell you what," She smiled, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her skirt. "Let's make it a date."

"At my bungalow?" He murmured with a wink.

 _Bungalow?_ Claire rolled her eyes. "An actual date."

"Sure," He grabbed her hand and kissed it overdramatically. "Saturday at six. I'll let you choose the place."

"You have yourself a deal, Grady." She handed him a tissue to wipe off the lipstick plastered all over his stubble and led him out of the office. "I'll call you later when I've made up my mind."

* * *

She ran into her assistant in the bathroom while she was trying to clean up. Apparently, she'd been there the whole time, judging by her flushed face and lingering smirk.

"What the _hell_ , Zara!" She hissed, feeling her neck redden completely. "You were supposed to be on break!"

"And miss watching a perfectly delicious booty call?" She laughed. "I'd exchange that for coffee any day, Ms. Dearing."

"You are _so_ not getting that raise I promised."

Zara waved a hand at her dismissively. "Of course, of course. So the date . . ."

"Oh, God, you heard that, too?!"

"Well, the conversation certainly wasn't as loud as your screaming, but I managed to catch most of it." She replied.

 _"Zara!"_

"I'll send you a copy." Zara teased, waving the device in front of her face.

"Oh, my God." Claire sputtered. _"Give me that phone!"_

"Along with a copy of that paperwork you drowned in caffeine."

Claire stared at her, exasperated. "Ugh, _fine_. I'll give you your damn raise. And you'd _better_ send me that video. But remember. Not a word of this. To _anyone_."

"My lips are sealed."

* * *

 **When I began this, it was intended to be a one-shot of some sort. But now I'll be making an attempt to tie it into canon (aka the first date) and we'll see what happens.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Procedures

**This is a short chaptor. Basically building up to the first date. Enjoy!**

* * *

It'd been three days since she'd had sex with Owen Grady in her office. But who was counting? Certainly not her.

Claire squirmed in her chair, trying and failing to focus on the spreadsheets in front of her.

Well, she was sure of one thing. She got so much more than she asked for when she was craving a distraction. God, she couldn't stop _thinking_ about the other day. And Zara couldn't stop talking about it. Along with the planned date for tomorrow.

Claire rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was humiliating enough knowing she'd been present for basically the entire time, but taping the damn scene was an all new level of indignity.

Understandably, Claire still wanted to smash her phone. But she couldn't bring herself to do it after getting _so_ wet every night watching the copy Zara sent her. Granted, all it showed was Grady's pumping ass as he drove into her. But hell if that wasn't enough to make her mind go wild with vivid fantasies, sound effects aside. After all, he had a very nice looking ass.

 _Concentrate!_ She mentally screamed at herself, face flaming.

Zara conveniently poked her head through the door. "So are you going to tell me what you're planning or not?"

"If you're so anxious to know, Zara, I might as well send you the itinerary." Claire scoffed.

"Itinerary?" Zara's eyes bulged. "Are you bloody serious?"

Claire's face burned hotter. "What's wrong with having a schedule?"

She just shook her head. "Claire, you're supposed to be loosening up on this date. Stepping out of the business shoes for one day. Living a little."

"You sound like Masrani." Claire rolled her eyes. "Contrary to what he believes, not everything should be up to chance. Especially with Owen Grady. I have absolutely no intention of fucking this up."

Zara gave her a pitied look. "I'm afraid it's already too late for that."

* * *

They ran into each other near the monorail station. Not exactly by accident. Owen kind of made it his business to know where she was these days.

Claire was her usual pristine self. Not one hair out of place and not one unnecessary wrinkle in her business attire. Her vanilla-scented lotion was pouring off her in waves. Hell, was she gorgeous, but to be honest, Owen preferred the disheveled and sweaty version of Claire. The Claire he'd caught a glimpse of when he was fucking her over her desk.

Now he was trying to keep a straight face.

"Owen," she smiled briefly.

He nodded. "Claire."

"Was there something you wanted?"

Fuck yes. He wanted _her_. But he had the general decency not to say that aloud. Not yet.

"Yeah, about the date tomorrow. Wanna give me an idea of where it's at?" He asked. A perfectly legitimate excuse. She hadn't said a word to him since that day in her office, and he was dying to know what she was up to. Or just dying to hear her voice. Either one was good enough for him.

She tilted her head, a gesture that always drove him mad. "Wouldn't you rather save the suspense for when I pick you up tomorrow?"

 _Wait, pick_ me _up?_ Not what he expected, but something else demanded more attention. "So you know where I live . . ."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "A manager should know where all her employees live, don't you think?"

"Uh-huh," Owen smirked. "Well, I think driving all the way out in the jungle is a little inconvenient for our Operations Manager. What say I meet you on Main Street?"

"Fair enough." She agreed after a slight hesitation. "I'll see you at 5:40 sharp."

She headed off toward the monorail station, probably to take care of some business. What else for?

"Oh, and Claire." He called.

She turned, and he decided now was as good a time as any to drop a hint. "What say we get some dessert at my place afterwards?"

Her lips curved ever so slightly, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Depends on how hungry I am."

And then she clicked away on her heels, Owen's nerves tingling oh-so eagerly.

Tomorrow just couldn't come sooner.

* * *

 **Now I almost feel bad for portraying the date as the disaster it was. ); Oh well, clawen angst is almost as fun as clawen fluff.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Frustrations

**And now . . . the moment you've all been waiting for . . . the first date! ;)**

* * *

Claire stood at the corner of Main Street, checking her phone impatiently.

 _5:48._

She should have expected it, really. But considering this was their first date, she figured Owen at least had the civility to show up on time for once.

Claire ignored all the tourists giving her strange looks. She guessed no one was used to seeing the head honcho of Jurassic World out and about. That was understandable. She was usually confined to her office space or overseeing the control room, making sure everything was in order and nothing was out of place.

Or maybe it was the glamorous cocktail dress she was wearing. Claire snorted. As if.

Two minutes later, her date roared up on his bike. She winced so much it hurt. This was _exactly_ why she wanted to pick him up herself. His poor choice in transportation was almost as bad as his poor taste in clothing. All it took was a once-over for her to start seeing red. _Board shorts? How the hell does he think he's going to get by with wearing_ board shorts _to a date?_

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Even his raptor training attire would've been more appropriate.

His grin was wide when he finally killed the deafening engine. "Hey—"

He barely got the word out before she shoved a piece of paper in his face.

"Uh . . . what's this?"

"An itinerary." She told him brusquely. "I've planned out the night up until 10pm. I have a late-night meeting with the Board and we've lost ten minutes already. So let's get going, shall we?"

Owen stared at it without blinking. " _Itinerary . . ."_ He sounded it out slowly like it was foreign to his tongue.

Claire cleared her throat.

"Uh, right." He folded the paper messily. "Let's go."

She pushed ahead, heels clacking on the pavement, trying think about something, _anything_ , other than Owen Grady walking around with her in fucking board shorts.

"Nice dress." He complimented, a smug tone in his voice.

"Nice shorts." She shot back icily.

He suddenly seemed to register her contained fury. "So I'm guessing it's not appropriate for where we're eating out, huh? Well, I could've worn slacks if you gave me an idea of—"

" _What?"_ Claire whirled on him. "Are you saying this is _my_ fault?"

Owen hesitated. "Well, partially?"

"Unbelievable," She stormed through the door of a high-class restaurant with a fancy name he couldn't pronounce.

 _Shit,_ he thought before hurrying after her.

Someone was already waiting to take them to their table. He wrinkled his nose at Owen and gave Claire a puzzled glance.

"He's with me." She managed through her teeth.

Owen followed the two of them to their seats, trying not to feel _too_ conspicuous. At least these places had those long tablecloths. And he was wearing a polo shirt, which wasn't that low class, right?

They sat down in silence.

He tried not to stare. Claire looked incredibly beautiful. Huge, dangling earrings and deep blue eyeshadow that made her eyes look really clear and large. Plus, the fact that she was angry at him spiced it up. He usually loved seeing her glare at people. But he hadn't experienced the fortune of having it directed toward him until now. Pretty hot. Just not that fun.

Owen shifted in his seat, picking up the menu and squinting at it. "Is this in French?"

"I suppose the food choices _are_ kind of advanced," Claire's eye twitched. "Would you like me to order for us?"

"Sure," He shrugged. "I guess I'll order the drinks."

She smiled tightly. "All right then."

When she was rattling off a bunch of weird names to the waitress, Owen took another peek at the itinerary.

 _6:30 - Finish dinner_  
 _6:40 - Browse main street_  
 _6:50 - Gift shopping_

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Owen?" Claire's voice betrayed a hint of annoyance. "Did you hear me?"

He looked up. "Sorry, what?"

She jerked her head at the waitress standing beside them. "The drinks?"

"Oh," He grinned nervously. "You guys serve tequila here?"

The waitress opened her mouth to reply, but Claire cut her off. "I'm afraid I don't drink tequila."

Owen blinked at her. "Why not?"

"I'm on a diet." She explained calmly.

"So . . . ?"

"So I'll have _water_ instead." She barked.

That's when her moody demeanor started getting contagious.

"One tequila for me, then." Owen muttered. "Water for Ms. Chunky here."

Claire gave him a disapproving look. "That's not funny."

The waitress tried to hide her smile. "I'll be right back," She promised, and hurried off a little too eagerly.

Claire tilted her head. "Can we _please_ try to be civil here?"

"I guess raptor trainers aren't too good at that, huh?" Owen grinned.

She didn't laugh.

"That was a joke."

"Oh?" She snapped. "So all of this is a joke to you?"

"Well, no, but—"

"And your board shorts? Are _they_ are a joke, too?"

Owen yanked out the piece of paper she'd given him. "I think _this_ would classify as a joke, if that's where you wanna go."

"Excuse me?" She sputtered. "I'm trying to keep us on schedule so I can get back to—"

"This is a freaking date, Claire." Owen interrupted. "Chill out and have fun."

"Don't _chill out_ me." Claire snarled. "You think just because we had an interaction, you can just—"

"Interaction? Are you still calling it that? A more accurate term is sex. Mind-blowing sex if you'd like to be specific."

Her face burned. "Oh, for the love of—"

The waitress suddenly appeared at the table. "Your drinks?"

Claire nodded and waved her away once she put them down, hoping she hadn't been listening in for that long. God, this was getting out of hand.

"Look," She exhaled slowly. "Why don't we focus on dinner and argue about this later?"

"Yeah, whatever." Owen muttered. "Sorry."

Claire felt a twinge of regret. Maybe her itineraries and dress-codes _were_ a little too much. After all . . . their "interaction" had been anything but orderly. And there was something about that—about _Owen_ —that she couldn't help craving.

Then the board shorts came back to her mind, and her eyes hardened as any yearning to apologize vanished.

When their food arrived, they ate in silence.

Owen had no idea what it was, but it tasted pretty good. Like "way too much for his paycheck" pretty good.

Claire seemed to sense what he was thinking. "I can handle the bill."

"Why don't we split it?" Owen offered.

She sighed. "Do we have to fight over this, too?"

"It was a suggestion." He threw up his hands. "You don't have to regulate _everything_."

"Things are a lot less chaotic that way." Claire pointed out sharply.

Okay, so it wasn't really directed towards him. But it still felt like a slap in the face.

He slammed his fork against the table. "Meaning more strict and uptight?"

She set her jaw, trying _very_ hard not to lose her cool. "I don't see what's wrong with organization."

"You can't organize every little thing." Owen pressed. "Not everything can be controlled."

Claire smiled coldly. "Control is completely necessary in a place like Jurassic World."

"It doesn't have to be that way," He argued. "There's this thing called respect—"

"And you're implying I have no respect for people?"

"No!" Owen exploded. "I'm just saying—"

"Claire Dearing is strict and uptight. I get it." She snapped. "You don't like that, and this obviously isn't going to work."

"Claire . . ."

She waved the waitress over and handed her a credit card. "I think we should cut the rest of the evening short. Not that you would've followed my itinerary, anyway."

"Probably not," Owen admitted. "But that doesn't mean—"

"I'll walk with you back to your bike," Claire decided when she retrieved her card. "I really should get prepared for that meeting."

Owen stared at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. He sighed, "Fine."

They left the restaurant and strolled out onto main street. Darkness had fallen, but the place was still bustling with people. The night was warm, and the lights illuminated the stores and attractions. It was a nice view. But neither of them were in the mood to enjoy it.

When they reached his bike, Owen turned to Claire. "Listen, I know things didn't work out—"

"So we'll pretend this didn't happen." She nodded.

"No, that's not—oh, screw it," He grunted, grabbing her and pulling her into a kiss.

A small noise sprouted up in the back of her throat and she inadvertently curled her fingers into his shirt. Owen groaned and twisted his mouth deeper into hers, digging his hands into her sides.

For a moment, everything was forgotten. The itinerary. The tequila. The board shorts. They just stood there and made out like there was no tomorrow.

Then Claire came to her senses. She reared back and slapped him. Hard.

"Jeez, Claire," He gasped. "You _trying_ to give me whiplash?"

"Do you really have the _gall_ to pull a stunt like that after everything that's happened today?" She growled.

Owen knew where this was going, but he still smirked. Maybe a little harshly. "Just wanted to show you that the unexpected and unpredictable can be fun."

Her eyes burned. "Forget it. It was just one, single interaction. Purely business. There's _nothing_ between us. Nothing at all."

Her words stung. Like a swarm of wasps. "If that's the way you want to leave things, then _fine_." Owen retorted, ripping her itinerary in two and tossing the pieces at her feet. "Go back to your luxury suites and air-conditioned office buildings. And stay _out_ of my 'chaos.' See you around, Operations Manager."

He sped off on his bike without another word, leaving Claire standing there with her shredded itinerary and a deep hole in her chest she'd never be able to fill.

His kiss had burned itself onto her lips. She tried to close her eyes and wipe her mind of this awful night and everything in between.

But it didn't work.

Every time she shut out the world, he would always be there. With that smirk of his. That lazy, confident stance. That laugh which melted her like wax.

Owen had left his mark. And she couldn't scrape it off no matter how hard she tried.

* * *

 **I know it hurts, guys. ); But I had an awesome time writing this. Shall I continue it for the sake of more clawen spats? Wait and see!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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